Portkey
by Shadow Padawan
Summary: The result of a late night at Headquarters…


Pansy feels vulnerable. Her steps echo through the empty hall making it impossible to hide her presence without resorting to charms and that is just ridiculous. The Headquarters – not Malfoy Manor but the _real_ headquarters – are almost empty by this hour with only the watchmen stationed around the perimeter and Antonin Dolohov still bent over numerous maps of Wizarding Britain.

Pansy stops at the entrance of the strategy room, clutching the cup of coffee she holds in her hand a little tighter. Dolohov doesn't seem to notice her, intent on marking something on the map spread out in front of him. Pansy had noticed that he always seemed to be in his element when he was planning some raid or at the head of a battle. Draco had said that Dolohov had spent half his life either at war or in Azaban. In his element the older man is entrancing – the sly glint in his eyes, the firm set of his shoulders, the play of shadow and light on his face—

"Is there something you wanted, Ms. Parkinson?"

Pansy nearly jumps, the coffee cup tittering in her hand. Antonin is looking intently at her and in the lone, orange light of the fire his eyes burn her face making her flush. "It's late…I though…" she holds out the cup in her hand sheepishly, "coffee."

Antonin waves his wand carelessly, calling the cup to him. "Thank you, Ms. Parkinson."

"Pansy," she blurts suddenly for no reason, "My name's Pansy."

Antonin looks up, carefully setting down the quill he was writing with. "Yes, I know."

"So why don't you call me by it?"

Dolohov eyes her for a moment, considering something. "I wasn't aware I had a right to."

"You're mocking me!"

He laughs making Pansy shiver, "I'm not mocking you. Would you like me to call you Pansy?"

"Yes." It's barely a whisper and for some reason she feels embarrassed and ashamed of herself.

Antonin holds out his hand to her and she's pulled toward him not by magic but by some force that seems come from her own chest. She reaches him with unsteady, halting steps and peers into his face with challenging eyes and a pounding heart. Pansy admits that she's afraid. Afraid that he will laugh at her, at her foolishness, her girlishness. She's never this way around Draco. Around her fiancé she is calm and collected, able to hold her own even when her heart aches and she wants to cry. But with Antonin she feels completely inadequate. "Look at this, Pansy." His hand is on her shoulder and he has no difficulty in calling her by name as he attracts her attention to the map spread out on the table. Pansy recognizes a map of Hogwarts. Somehow she understands what it means.

"Why Hogwarts, Antonin?" His name comes easily to her lips and Pansy feels even more frightened. Dolohov is her commanding officer. Her idol. Her inspiration in all the darkness that has suddenly fallen over her life with the onset of the war. She was not supposed to feel so vulnerable around him. Vulnerable and protected at the same time.

"Our Lord believes it would be best to finish things off with Potter sooner rather than later." He sighs and lets go of her shoulder. Then adds in an almost imperceptible murmur, "And that is why we're going to attack one of the best protected fortresses in the wizarding world…" For the first time, Pansy notices how exhausted he is. Something is wrong about the picture he is seeing and that something is slowly eating away at him and now it is eating away at her as well.

"It's going to be a bloodbath isn't it?" she speaks the words as though in a trance.

Antonin turns partly away from her, watching the dancing flames in the fireplace. "Would you do me a favor, Pansy?"

"What?"

"Keep this." He slips something cool into her hand, closes her fingers over it, and lifts her hand to his lips for a feather-light kiss. "Goodnight, Ms. Parkinson. _Pansy_."

~*~

Pansy arrives at Malfoy Manor by floo, Antonin's token still grasped in her closed hand. She is met by a set of cool, grey eyes watching her from an armchair set in a deep shadow. Draco.

"Where were you?"

"Headquarters."

He stands and walks to her, leering over her as he's half a head taller. "No one in their right mid stays that late unless they're on watch."

"Antonin Dolohov does."

"I said in their _right mind_."

She wants to slap him but instead backs away. Draco grabs her hand, trying to pull her closer to him and she wrenches out of his hold. "No," she half gasps. "I'm just going home."

~*~

In the safe, familiar darkness of her own drawing room, Pansy opens her hand and looks down. In her hand is a delicate gold locket. Engraved on the lid is an old-fashioned lock. Inside is a matching engraving of a key. She brings her wand in close proximity to the locket and the key engraving sparkles slightly, sensing the wand. A portkey.

It is only months later, at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts when the Lord falls and all is lost that Pansy will remember about the locket and activate it, bringing her to a hide out that allows her to stay out of sight and out of suspicion for as long as needed to be later cleared by the authorities.

For the moment, she slips the portkey into her robes simply because for the first time in her life she can't ignore her heart.


End file.
